


In Time Gone By

by captainschmoop



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Multi, No Healing Cock, Not Iron Man 3 Compliant, Panic Attacks, Rape Aftermath, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainschmoop/pseuds/captainschmoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flashes of images and pieces of sounds drifted at the back of his mind, and Steve couldn't for the life of him tell if they were part of things that really happened or just mere hallucinations brought on whatever by drug they had injected into his system. All he knew was his neck was sore, he was bare ass nude, and he was chained to the wall.</p>
<p>Edit: Now with artwork link!</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Time Gone By

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Avengers Reverse Big Bang on LJ, and inspired by [LePeru's lovely art!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/958162) Make sure to go leave some love!
> 
> Many, many thanks to [ingu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingu/) for the wonderful beta work. 
> 
> **NOTE:** There are two rape scenes in this, but I've marked them for any who do not wish to read them. The female on male scene is bracketed by ** and the male on male scene is bracketed by *** so you can ctrl f those and skip them, if you'd like.  
>  Steve's thought process could also be considered triggering/problematic, so please be warned. Both Steve and Tony aren't as sure footed as they like to believe they are when dealing with their issues [or the issues of others].
> 
> All remaining mistakes are my own!

Steve usually avoided Stark Tower. Not that he didn't like Tony, far from it, but the building seemed to be in a constant state of repair since the Chitauri attack, and he didn't want to get in the way, especially since Tony and Bruce spent the majority of their time in the labs; while he no longer had any problem with today's technology, being in Tony's lab tended to be a little stifling in large doses. 

Today, however, he found himself standing at said lab's entrance, entering the passcode Bruce had given him into the key grid, and he steeled himself for the conversation about to happen. He didn't prepare to find Tony covered in oil, absentmindedly wiping away the filth as he proclaimed "that was totally meant to happen, Bruce, no worries" while Bruce sighed from his corner of the lab. 

"Can you put more effort into not wrecking the things you touch?" Steve asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hadn't meant to begin quite like that, but the sight of Bruce's quiet frown only served to remind him of how Tony had, once again, made Bruce's situation a joke. On national television. While Bruce was in the same room. When he saw the quiet shock on the man's face and the uncomfortable way Bruce shifted his weight when the cameras turned on him, Steve knew he had to say something.

"Excuse you, everything I touch becomes awesomer." Tony blinked, pausing his tinkering to look at Steve. "And, why are you bothering me? Don't really recall giving you permission to be in here."

"I gave him the code," Bruce said from his spot, glancing up at the two of them.

"What," Tony said flatly, turning from his work to stare Bruce down. "You let him into our secret club." Even though he couldn't see it, Steve was sure there was a frown on Tony's face. The man's hand twitched.

Bruce just looked from Tony to Steve, quirking his eyebrow just slightly. Bruce was telling him to tread carefully; he told Steve beforehand that Tony had been behaving a lot more... manic lately.

Steve sighed. "I asked Dr. Banner if I could come in here and talk to you about yesterday's press conference."

Tony snorted. "What about it?" He went back to his work, already muttering to himself, or JARVIS, about modifications.

"What about it?" Steve echoed, sharing a look with Bruce. He could tell an argument loomed in the very near future. "Being that brash and disrespectful in front of—"

"This coming from the guy who blew off a senator at his own award ceremony?" Tony nearly scoffed, face almost buried in his projections.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Steve remained silent. He briefly wondered how Tony knew that, but it really didn't matter.

Tony looked up from his work again, blinking. "No come back? No 'that was different' or whatever high and mighty crap you're all about?"

"No," Steve said calmly, even though it _was_ different. But stating that right off the bat would only close Tony off further. "I skipped out on a senator, and there's no point in denying that. I didn't care what they thought of me. The serum worked, and I was able to help out in the war like I'd always wanted; top brass, and most likely the people, never really cared because me and my team were doing more constructive things. Your behavior at the press conference, however, won't be so easily dismissed."

Scrunching up his nose, Tony leaned against his work table, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Oh yeah? Why, because I'm not America's Golden Boy—"

"Precisely," Steve cut in. He hated to say it, but the truth had to be said.

Tony blinked.

Pulling in a deep, calming breath, Steve clarified. "Everyone thinks they know your record. You said part of it yourself: billionaire playboy. And pulling a stunt like you did yesterday not only made you look worse, you actively tried to drag Bruce's perceived image even lower. You didn't exactly paint a pretty picture for anyone on this team, and you know how thin a line we're walking, given who and what we are."

Steve couldn't care less what Tony said about him to the press or anyone else, but the moment Tony dragged the others into it, Steve knew he had to say something. He wasn't trying to be harsh, but it needed to be said.

In his little corner, Bruce stood with his hands in his pockets, gaze shifting from Steve to Tony, a little frown on his lips.

Tony's jaw clenched and unclenched. "And why didn't you talk to the press, Mr. Rogers?" he asked, halfheartedly fiddling with his projections.

"Because publicity was never my strong suit, and I dislike being a dancing monkey." He might as well be truthful. "And yours is the face everyone knows."

"Hold on," Tony said, standing straighter, "weren't you just saying how that's a bad thing?"

"He's saying you're the human one," Bruce answered before Steve could, finally speaking up. "The one people can relate to."

"I think I should take offense to that," Tony said, eyebrow raised.

"Fine, but it doesn't change the fact that they can relate to you more than they can relate to me or the other guy," Bruce said, pulling his glasses off his face, scratching the back of his head. "Thor's basically a god, Natasha and Clint are two secret agent spooks, and Steve's a living legend."

"And I'm Iron Man." There was definitely a pout barely hidden in Tony's features.

He couldn't help it; Steve chuckled. "Yeah, but they at least know you. Thanks to the media, they've seen your ups and downs, and that makes you more human than any of us."

_And it's what makes them believe that they too can rise back up after being pushed down,_ Steve added mentally.

"Besides, I'm not saying you're _bad_ at press junkets. When you want to be, you have that old time charm and charisma" — in fact, it reminded Steve of the poise the actors of his time had — "that works a lot of things in your favor, which is why I don't have a problem with you speaking for the team. It's when you forget that you're part of this team that it becomes a problem."

Turning to Bruce, Tony said, "I think there was a compliment in there." It sounded like one if his usual quips, but it lacked the normal baiting edge.

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Don't let it go to your head."

Refraining from smirking, Steve cleared his throat to regain Tony's attention. "So, do we have an understanding?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll restrain from being my full awesome self for the cameras."

"That might be your hardest mission yet," Steve replied as he turned to leave, smiling to himself as he heard Tony whining at Bruce's chuckle.

———

Not three days had gone by since the press conference, before another situation arose that called for the Avengers. So it was that Steve found himself suited up, standing in a leveled street with the Hulk next to him and Iron Man calling out numbers in his ear. 

Hulk moved his head from side to side, jerky, tilted as if he were listening for something. "Hulk," he called, waiting to see if he'd be ignored or not — his teammate looked preoccupied — but Hulk turned to him, eyes narrowed. "Can you give Stark some back up?"

If there's one thing he's learned during their battles, it's that Hulk seemed to favor watching their backs, Tony's more than anyone's. Given how reckless the man could be, Steve thought having Hulk near him would be beneficial; Tony liked to Lone Ranger it more often than not. 

At Steve’s words, Hulk bared his teeth, fists rising slightly, and he took several steps toward Iron Man's position, but he lingered, glancing back at Steve with his head tilted in that same position. Though he faced Steve, Hulk's eyes roamed the area, his grunts almost nonexistent. He lifted his head higher, ear to the wind.

What was he listening for?

"It's okay, Hulk, I'll be fine." It felt silly, reassuring something as big and strong as the Hulk, but if Steve didn't know any better, he'd say the big guy was worried — maybe even spooked. "Stark needs your help more than I do." By Tony's count, there were a couple of tanks donning some serious armor, and Hulk's strength would be a quicker way to decommission them. When Hulk didn't move, Steve pointed his finger toward Tony's position, relying on a word that he knew Hulk liked. "Go on, go smash."

The Hulk's eyes narrowed some, a small upward quirk appearing on the corner of his lips, and he finally moved, running his way toward the thick of the action. The sound of his roar was followed by panicked shouting, and artillery fire told Steve that Hulk had indeed found something worth smashing.

Steve, on the other hand, had to make sure that civilians were kept out of harm's way, and that no stray enemy agents would escape from the fight. Both Natasha and Clint were away on SHIELD missions, and with Thor offworld, that left just the three of them in New York to not only help with ever necessary relief aid, but also to deal with whichever nefarious organizations still thought they could take advantage of the Chitauri attack’s aftermath.

Like HYDRA.

Despite his experience with the organization, Fury hadn't wanted Steve to be on the frontline of this particular battle. Steve's first instinct had been to argue against Fury's decision, but whatever point he'd been about to make died on his tongue when he realized that Fury had been worried about how he'd react to the agents. He'd been diagnosed with PTSD, after all, and while he didn't think it would interfere with his capabilities, Steve wouldn't do anything that may compromise his team. 

An exclamation of "there!" caught Steve's attention, and he turned to see five HYDRA agents running toward him. 

Shield raised, Steve met them head on. He evaded their hits easily, more concerned with their weapons than their mediocre fighting skills. They looked like smaller versions of the guns used against him during the war, so he made quick work to neutralize the agents wielding them. He paused, surveying his handiwork and making sure they were all down for the count.

More agents rounded the corner, and Steve readied himself, listening to the com chatter — seemed Tony took down their main aircraft.

Steve's eyes widened as his body went rigid, muscles tightening in pain as high voltage shot through him. When the current finally stopped, he couldn't do anything other than fall to the ground in a graceless heap. Shakily, he tried to get back on his feet, but pressure at his back pushed him to the ground again, a hand grabbing his hair and another sticking something into his neck.

Voices whispered, frantic and far away, as he felt himself being hefted up, his legs dragging for a few moments before they, too, were lifted.

Steve tried to blink, tried to stay alert, coherent, but whatever they gave him began to take its toll, and he found himself falling, the sounds of Hulk's angry roar getting closer as the whispered voices began to shout. 

The world faded to black. 

———

Steve's eyes fluttered open, though focus didn't yet return to his vision. He barely registered the fact that something was causing his body to jostle, and those whispered voices now shouted at one another, warped slightly.

"Hurry up, jackass. Get across the fucking state line!"

"Fuck you, man. Do you know how close I was to shittin' my pants when the fucking Hulk came after us?"

"Shut it, both of you. He's waking up."

"Impossible! We dosed him with enough to—"

"He's Captain fucking America, you shit. Give him another."

"And if he dies?"

Steve made a small groan as another needle jabbed into his neck.

"We'll still have samples."

The voices faded after that, too faint for Steve to hear, and try as hard as he could, he couldn't keep his mind alert. Darkness enveloped him once more.

———

Flashes of images and pieces of sounds drifted at the back of his mind, and Steve couldn't for the life of him tell if they were part of things that really happened or just mere hallucinations brought on whatever by drug they had injected into his system. All he knew was his neck was sore, he was bare ass nude, and he was chained to the wall.

He didn't even know when he woke up, exactly.

Glancing around, Steve saw that the room lacked any distinctive features, bland in a way most hospitals weren't. It felt disconcerting to him, more so than the fact he was chained naked to the wall, the floor cold underneath his backside. At least there was enough slack in the chains that he could use to his advantage should one of his captors decide to get too close. He shook his head some, trying to figure out if his comlink still sat in his ear.

"Finally awake, blondie?"

He must have been out of it more than he'd thought because Steve hadn't even heard the door open. He had no idea who the visitor was, but Steve vaguely recognized his voice from when he was drugged. He blinked at the man: stocky, messy red hair, rumpled clothing, donning two side holsters, sour expression.

Another man entered, taller, slimmer, more reserved in his expression and posture, neat in hair and clothing. He nodded at the redhead before glancing at Steve, almost in disinterest. "You sure this is him, Rigley? He doesn't look like anything special."

"Pretty sure the suit gave him away," Rigley said, voice heavy with sarcasm.

"It could just be a PR thing, jackass," the second man responded, face still at a deadpan.

Rigley huffed. "Cecil had to dope him several times, and the guy's still alive."

The neat man regarded Steve more thoughtfully. "Russo was supposed to double check him."

Rigley snorted. "Russo's fuckin' dead. The fucking jolly green giant came 'round before we could really do anything, and I was more preoccupied with hauling ass before we all got fucking killed."

"The bazooka was supposed to take care of the Hulk."

"And it did. For a couple of fucking minutes. Shit just made it angrier."

Steve merely listened, trying to gain any information about his whereabouts or his captors, but his body fidgeted on its own accord, the movement causing his chains to rustle and drawing their attention.

"If it is him, he doesn't look that impressive."

"Fine, let's test it," Rigley said as he pulled out his pistol and shot Steve in his right arm.

Steve never did liked getting shot, but it was just the incentive for his body to become fully alert thanks to the pain that rippled from the area. He bit back a wince. He just managed to rein in his glare.

The other man simply blinked at the wound. "Did I say to shoot him?"

"No, but it felt good. 'Cause of this shithead, Russo's dead, Kip's laid up with a broken leg, and I had to come all the way out to this fucking neighborhood. I hate the west coast, Jerry."

"Would you shut up," Jerry drawled.

"What, you think he knows something?" Rigley got closer to Steve, glowering. "You think you know something, pretty boy? You got shit on us." He pistol whipped Steve across the cheek. "And don't even think someone's gonna find you."

"If you're quite finished," Jerry said as he stepped a bit closer, eying Steve. "The bullet's still in his arm," he said after a moment.

"So? Want me to dig it out?"

Jerry waved his hand. "You'll just cause more damage." He dropped down on a knee so that he was closer to eye level with Steve.

"So what? The point of me shooting him was to see how he'll heal."

"When you get shot, " Jerry addressed Steve, ignoring Rigley, "how much do you rely on medical personnel handling the wound?"

Steve didn't say anything, staring impassively up at his captors. He had a feeling he knew where this whole situation would lead, and it made his stomach drop.

"It's a simple question," Jerry said, trying again to get a response. "It's not like I'm asking you how to get to the president."

"Just let me wail on his face," Rigley piped up, arms crossed in boredom.

"Yes, why don't you do that," Jerry said with a sigh, getting up and stepping back.

Rigley grinned, cracking his knuckles as he approached Steve. He landed a swift right hook, and Steve surged forward, using the proximity to his advantage to headbutt Rigley, a small wave of satisfaction washing over him as he heard the crunch of Rigley's broken nose.

Just as Steve reached for one of the pistols in Rigley's side holsters, the chains yanked him back down against the wall, his head smacking against the tile.

He blinked in confusion before struggling against his restraints, barely making it a few inches off the wall before he was pulled back, the manacles around his neck and wrists tightening. He stopped, panting. Not good. He'd dealt with chains before, even broken them, but these would hardly budge.

"I guess he is Captain America, if he could move away from the wall," Jerry said, smirking slightly. "Those chains were prototypes designed to detain the Hulk's strength."

"Fucking asshole!" Rigley cursed, glaring at both Steve and Jerry as he held his bloody nose. "Couldn't you've had him try that sooner?"

"I wanted him to really try for it," came Jerry's drawl.

"Fucking A," Rigley muttered as he walked back up to Steve and delivered a harsh kick to his side.

This time, Steve couldn't keep the wince off his face, the combination of the prospect of bruised — or worse, cracked — ribs and the tightness of his restraints not helping.

"You know," Jerry began, "you don't have to be treated so roughly. All you have to do is answer my questions."

Gritting his teeth, Steve only stared at the man.

He raised his eyebrow. "Very well, captain. We'll do things your way." With a snap of his fingers, he and Rigley left the room.

———

Steve stared impassively at the wall opposite him, breathing in and out with controlled ease. He didn't bother moving much anymore, despite how his backside would become numb from his spot on the floor; there wasn't much could anyway: the chains would retract back into the wall and pin him in an even more uncomfortable position. Besides, if he remained still, the manacles around his wrists and neck weren't so tight.

It'd been a week and a half since he was shot, and the wound was healing excellently, according to Jerry's ever present mumbling, with the bullet still inside. Steve could say he wasn't used to that, but that would be a lie. During that healing process, he'd been sliced up periodically, each cut a different length and depth, so they could study how fast and how well he could heal. They'd barely given him any food or water since he woke up — mostly due to his attempts to attack them — and he wasn't sure how long he'd been out while drugged.

He also had no idea how long it'd be until someone found him, if someone ever did. While Steve was by no means a negative fellow, staying positive proved to be trying whenever his captors decided to grace him with their presence.

The door opened, and the bastards themselves walked in. Steve only glanced briefly at them before he settled his gaze on the opposite wall once more. Through his peripheral vision, he saw Rigley stand in the doorway as Jerry moved closer to Steve, a clipboard in hand as he surveyed his captive's healing progress.

"The fuck is that girl," Rigley muttered before booming, "Sally!"

"Must you be so loud?" Jerry said without looking up from his clipboard.

"Don't know why you keep her around. She's a dumbshit."

A smirk appeared on Jerry's lips. "She has her uses."

Steve shivered.

A slender woman entered, barefooted and much too pale, wearing a dress that was just a tad too loose on her. She carried a plate with a sandwich and a full glass of water, and she looked between the two men before settling her gaze on Steve, eyes widening a little.

"Go on, dear," Jerry said, "nourish him."

"What if he tries something?"

"She'll be the one who takes his assault, so no harm done."

Steve's jaw clenched at the words, and all he could think was _bastard_. He stayed still as Sally knelt down beside him, placing the plate in her lap, and he watched her pick up half of the sandwich and bring it to his mouth.

Her eyes roamed over his body, stopping briefly at the more serious and recent cuts. Her hand trembled slightly.

Glancing at the pair of men, Steve shook his head. He didn't think they'd poison him — at least, not _yet_ — but he didn't want the food anyhow; he'd gone longer with less, and he didn't want to make it easier for them to use him as a guinea pig.

Sally's hand faltered, and she glanced back at Jerry before focusing back on Steve. She brought the food to his mouth again, more insistent.

Steve still refused.

"Okay, he's pissing me off." Rigley growled as he moved toward, pushing Sally aside as he stabbed Steve in the left shoulder. He twisted the blade, causing Steve to grimace. "Wanna open your mouth now?"

Steve just glared. He'd taken stronger, harsher beatings in the past, and Rigley's attempts at pulling a response from him hardly compared to getting roughed up by the Red Skull or the Chitauri. 

"Take the girl outside," he said to Jerry, a slow grin forming on his face, "me and the _captain_ here got some talking to do."

Vaguely, Steve noticed Sally's protest as Jerry all but dragged her away, but he focused primarily on Rigley and the second dagger he brandished a little too close to Steve's eyes.

"You don't need both your eyes," he said, grin never subsiding as he lightly ran the blade along his cheek, barely breaking skin. "You might want to better behave yourself." With that, he gave the knife in his shoulder a sharp twist, grin turning sinister at Steve's flinch, before slowly pulling it out. He admired his handiwork then gave a sloppy salute.

Doing his best not to say anything, Steve watched as he sauntered toward the door, tensing only slightly when Rigley turned around, bracing himself for more words or even another blow.

Rigley did neither. He simply smiled. Then he left.

A small part of Steve chilled, not just at the sight, but at his situation. Drugged, shot, beat, cut, and stabbed. Thank goodness all of his acquired wounds haven't been that serious; his shoulder hurt, but it'd only been the deltoid, so it could've been worse. He was beginning to worry that help would come too late.

Reminding himself that he'd bled plenty in the past, gone longer without proper nourishment, even gone a good while without medical attention, Steve let his head gently thump against the wall, staring at the impossibly bland ceiling. He closed his eyes.

———

Sometime after he was stabbed, Sally came back into the room. 

"I've been instructed to clean you," Sally informed him, eyes downcast, clutching a washcloth and a bucket of water.

Steve remained quiet, watching her approach and situate her supplies with a wary eye. They hadn't exactly been taking great care of him, so the news only made him suspicious.

Sally knelt next to him, eying his shoulder with big eyes. "You know," she said, hesitant as she gently poured water over his wound, "if you didn't struggle so much, they wouldn't be so rough. They'd probably restrain you in a more comfortable position, too," she added, eying the way he sat stiffly on the hard floor.

"Where's the fun in that?" Steve found himself asking, voice hoarse from disuse. It surprised him, both the condition of his voice and how easily he'd spoken to her.

Now that he thought about, he'd never gone so long without _some_ one to talk to, without seeing some sort of friendly face. _Which means,_ he thought as he clenched his jaw, _this is probably set up._

She smiled, though, at his words, surprise on her features as she poured water over him, lightly dabbing the washcloth on his skin. "Do you have children?" she asked after a bit, focusing on her hands instead of his face.

"No..." Steve said quietly, unsure if he should be letting his guard down for this woman, unsure if he should be even entertaining whatever angle they were playing.

Glancing at him, she seemed to pick up on his uncertainty. "I'm just asking," she said softly. "These guys won't go after kids..."

"That's good to know," he said drily, "but the answer is still no." He didn't think he could handle that, given his place in the Avengers.

**

"Well," Sally continued after a heavy pause, "doctors say the likelihood of me having kids is extremely low. They said I have an inhospitable environment." Her fingertips traveled down his chest, grazing his navel. "So I've been waiting a couple of weeks for this," she finished, a gleam to her eyes as her hand ghosted over his cock.

Steve froze. "What are you doing," he asked flatly, hoping he was misreading the situation.

Instead of answering, she grasped his cock with a firm hand, leaning down to the head.

Tensing all over, Steve watched in mortification as Sally took as much of him as she could in her mouth.

After a few seconds in which his brain had shut off from shock, she pulled off his dick, licking her lips as she began stroking. "How long's it been since you had a woman?" Sally asked, cheeks tinted pink in arousal. Her thumb moved over his slit.

The action caused him to shiver, snapping Steve out of his horrified stupor. "Stop it!" he bit out, trying to scoot away and not accomplishing anything. Her actions were stirring his body against his will. He began to panic.

"You're so hard," she murmured, almost to herself, bending back down to swallow his cock again, her sucking and licking only exciting his body further.

As Steve tried to keep control of his breathing, as he tried to think of anything else, Sally withdrew her assault and got to her feet. Pulling her dress over her head and tossing it aside, Sally knelt and positioned herself above him before she sank down onto his cock without much resistance.

His eyes widened: she'd prepared herself beforehand; she'd planned to do this from the start.

He gasped as she started moving, her hips rolling into his as she ran her hands down in chest. He shuddered.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you? I feel good, don't I?" She gasped, groaning at her new angle. "So big, you're loving this." Smiling, she bit her bottom lip, eyes closing as rode him, her wet, warm tightness swallowing him.

Breath hitching, Steve tried to throw her off him, tried to do something to make her stop, but the shackles limited his capabilities, and his actions only caused her to moan deeper, her arms wrapping around his neck. "That's it, you love this, let go," she murmured, leaning in for a deep kiss.

Steve didn't know what to do, feeling himself go slack against her lips even as he tried his hardest not to react to her, to her lips, her touch, her body, anything. But no matter how much effort he tried to muster, he couldn't control his body's reactions.

"Yeah, c'mon, yeah," she groaned when she broke the kiss, "come for me." Her pace became frantic, harsher, her hands gripping the back of Steve's neck, his hair, as she groaned. "Make me pregnant." She reached behind her, her hand running over and past his balls, and added _pressure_.

Steve shouted, his eyes snapping open — and when had he allowed them to close? — in shock as a bolt of pleasure he had no context for fired up his spine. The groan that escaped him did so on its own, and Steve came, helpless to stop it and defenseless against the effect it wrecked on his body, his whole being shaking in orgasm.

He might have blacked out for a few seconds because when he came back to his senses, both he and Sally were panting, Sally listless against his chest. She squirmed lightly, causing a bit of Steve to trickle out onto his skin.

Almost immediately, a wave of shame crashed over him like ice cold water, and he stared at the opposite wall in quiet dismay at the reality of what had just happened.

After a relative eternity passed, Sally finally sat up, a serene smile on her face. "Thank you," she murmured as she kissed him. "You don't know how long I've waited for them to catch you. Jerry hopes your sperm will do the trick." She grinned, running her thumb over his nipple in an affectionate manner.

Steve shivered.

Freezing, Sally regarded him thoughtfully then did it again, rolling the nub between her thumb and forefinger.

Both of their eyes widened as Steve twitched with interest. "No..." Steve whimpered, and he didn't know which of them he was begging to.

But Sally just laughed in delight. "This is amazing!" She began to move her hips, teasing, both hands playing with his nipples as she sucked at his neck. "We can do this all night," she whispered sweetly as she claimed his lips, moaning as Steve became fully hard again. "You'll definitely get me pregnant," she gasped out, moving faster.

Despite his body's betraying interest, Steve shook his head, whimpering again. "Please, don't..." His breath hitched as she gave a particularly rough roll of her hips.

"Shh, we have all the time in the world, love," she said sweetly, placing a kiss to his cheek before she really moved her hips.

Steve closed his eyes.

**  
——— 

The concept of time escaped Steve. They didn't inflict damage to his body anymore, barely looked at his shoulder, at his former cuts and bruises to record his healing process. The only one who visited him was Sally, and he found himself preferring a visit of Jerry's knives to her company; he couldn't even look her in the face anymore.

The doorknob rustled as the lock was turned, and Steve's stomach fell; it felt like Sally had left only minutes ago. The door opened, and Rigley stepped inside.

Instantly, Steve became alert. Something was up if Rigley was here.

The man didn't move from the door, studying Steve with a blank face, and that was enough to disturb Steve, but he simply glared in response. That got Rigley to smirk.

"You know," he began, stalking toward Steve, "if it was up to me, I'd slice you open and pour acid in your innards." He grinned widely, standing in front of Steve, looking down at him. "But because the boss couple want a superbaby, I gotta play nice."

***

He dropped to one knee, grin still present, and backhanded Steve. "So let's play nice," he said, grin turning into a sadistic smirk as he pulled out some sort of packet. Steve's glare only intensified at the way Rigley looked at him, and he watched the man tear the packet open and smear its contents on his index and middle finger. He lowered his slick fingers, his other hand gripping Steve's thigh.

Growling, Steve moved as best he could, trying to inflict any amount of damage on Rigley before he could do what Steve thought he was going to do. His futile actions only made Rigley laugh. "That's right, you fight," he said, digging his nails into the meat of Steve's thigh.

Despite Steve's efforts, Rigley got between his legs unharmed, and Steve sucked in a harsh breath when he felt Rigley's fingers breach him, pushing in to the knuckles. It was painful, weird, foreign, and Steve bared his teeth, wanting nothing more than to kick the guy in the gut.

"Damn, you took two fingers like a champ." Rigley laughed, moving his fingers in and out of Steve. "Who knew Captain America was such a cock slut." He sneered at Steve, his fingers scissoring.

"Bastard," Steve grit out, forbidding himself from shuddering, from giving the bastard the satisfaction.

"Don't try to deny it, pretty boy," he nearly sing-songed, working his fingers in harder. "Look at yourself getting hard. Want my cock in your ass that bad?" He laughed again, adding another finger.

Steve supposed he should be thankful Rigley was preparing him at all, but that hardly made him feel any better, especially after everything that'd already happened. Trying to breathe evenly, Steve bit the inside of his lip, closing his eyes and trying to block the sensation out. 

"Where'd that fight go, boy?" Rigley asked as he removed his fingers. Steve heard him unzip his pants. "You like being a fuck toy that much?"

"Fuck you," Steve snapped, opening his eyes in anger only for them to widen in shock at Rigley's quick thrust inside, a rasp of pain escaping him. He didn't have time to get his bearings as Rigley moved almost immediately, harsh, deep thrusts that had Steve groaning helplessly.

"Bet if I untied you, you'd present yourself like a bitch in heat, face down and ass up," Rigley panted out, gripping Steve's thighs and spreading them as best he could, entering Steve at a new, deeper angle. "Look at you, you're drooling for my dick. This is how you are with Sally, isn't it? Panting hard as she bounces on your cock? You came in her each time, getting off to being used. You're fucked up, pretty boy."

Gritting his teeth, Steve tried not to listen to the words, tried not to think about the past however many days, but to do that would bring the noises their bodies made to the forefront of his mind, and that was just as bad. A slap to the face made Steve blink in surprise, made him open his eyes — when he closed them he wasn't sure — and focus on the way Rigley smirked in pleasure, made Steve see his own half hardness.

Mortification coloring his face, Steve turned away from the sight, struggling in his restraints anew, the sting of tears threatening to fall from his eyes. And Rigley only laughed breathlessly at him as he pounded into Steve, merciless, deep thrusts that stole Steve's breath and pressed his back into the wall. It only made Steve struggle harder, his wrists becoming raw from the manacles, and he gasped for air, shame and Rigley's thrusts suffocating him as much as the manacle around his neck.

Rigley's pace didn't falter, becoming harsher and faster, and Steve couldn't stop the whimpers from leaving his throat, his body burning from shame and pain. And then, everything stopped, leaving Steve trembling in its wake, bleary eyed and panting, lost. Rigley stood close, stood over him, one hand pumping his cock while the other reached down to Steve's wounded shoulder, gripping the wound roughly, causing Steve to wince and feebly cry out, and that gave Rigley release; he came over Steve's face, in his mouth, on his chin, the hand on Steve's shoulder tightening, making Steve gasp.

They stayed like that, Rigley panting from his orgasm and Steve frozen in consternation. The tears that had been on the verge of falling finally trickled down his face. He felt disgusting; he couldn't stop yet another person from taking advantage, he had come on his face, and he still had an erection. He felt pathetic.

Rigley moved eventually, stepping away from Steve and tucking himself in. He wore a smirk. "I can see why Sally likes you." He placed his shoe above Steve's erection, pressing down slightly; Steve whimpered. "She always makes you come, but I think I'll leave you hanging." Smirk turning sinister, Rigley pressed down just a fraction harder before walking away, leaving Steve alone.

In the deafening quiet, Steve could do nothing but remember. Hanging his head, he let the tears fall.

***  
———

Sally kept up the visits.

So did Rigley.

Jerry and his knives returned.

———

A constant beep woke him, and he blinked his vision into focus, taking in the light green walls, the window with the curtains drawn, the TV in the upper left corner, the plush chair beside the bed he currently lay in. Brow furrowing, Steve simply stared, the room foreign yet soothing, even with the wires attached to him.

His hand traveled to the wires in his other arm, and that was when he noticed the bandages. Pausing, Steve stared at them, not quite comprehending. Hesitantly, he checked his shoulders, lifted his head up slightly to see if he could see his legs; he could, and he was bandaged there as well.

What happened? Steve wondered if this could be a dream, wondered where he found the effort to dream of something this nice.

The door opened with a slight _whoosh_ , and Tony's back appeared in the doorway, tiptoeing backward into the room before quietly shutting the door. He turned around and froze when he noticed Steve awake.

They stared at each other, Tony a deer in the headlights and Steve a picture of calm confusion. Tony moved first, taking a big breath, and began talking.

"Before you say anything, the damage was kind of unavoidable. Hulk likes me sure, but he listens to you more than anyone else, and seeing as you were MIA, he kinda just went more into his Hulkiness mode. So, don't blame me. Not my fault." Tony finished with a smile, pulling out his phone and instantly began typing.

Steve blinked. This definitely wasn't a dream. He'd have understood that if it were. "What are you talking about?"

Pausing, Tony tilted his head to the side, brow creasing. "Oh, didn't hear about that? Well, okay, whoops, but just remember what I said about it not being my fault, okay?" He smiled again, pleased with himself, and continued fiddling with his phone.

"Sure..." Steve agreed easily enough, despite his confusion. "Now, want to tell me what happened?" He tried again, wondering if he'd gone mad. Hadn't he been chained to a wall before he opened his eyes?

"How is this my job? Seriously, I thought SHIELD agents loved to do the debriefing thing," Tony grumbled, but he put down his phone and clapped his hands together. "Okay, so, do you want all of it or just how we got you out of there?" He actually waited for Steve to choose.

"Maybe I should wait for Sitwell to get here," Steve said after awhile.

Tony snorted. "Might be a while. They're still cleaning up the mess Jolly Green left behind." He tapped idly on his phone, but the majority of his attention was on Steve.

Deciding to ignore that, Steve asked, "How's Bruce?"

"Out like a light," Tony answered cheerfully. "Figured it was a very exhaustive episode, so I didn't sneak him in here."

Concern piqued, Steve sat up some. "Why didn't you try to calm him down?" He felt a little dizzy from the simple action, and he stilled, blinking slowly.

Moving closer, Tony motioned for him to lie back down, and when he complied, he pressed one of the buttons on a panel on the side of the bed, causing the bed to shift into a steeper incline. The angle was much better, and it was more comfortable for Steve.

"One, I'm not his babysitter, two, I was kinda preoccupied with getting you out of there, and three, I didn't really care that he wanted to wreck the place," Tony answered from his spot by Steve's bed.

Not knowing what to say to that, Steve simply sat in his hospital bed, staring at his hands. Sitwell would want to brief him on what had happen since his abduction then debrief him about what he'd been through. Normally, the routine wouldn't cause any specific reaction in him; it was something one grew to expect and tolerate within the military.

But now... 

Steve honestly didn't know if he _could_ talk about what had happened. Even now, the memory made him shudder.

"I'm starving," Tony said, voice cutting into Steve's thoughts.

"What?" Steve asked, more reflex than anything else.

"I'm starving, and hospital food is the worst. Well, no, bean soup is the worst." For a second, something haunted crossed over Tony's face, but it vanished as fast as it appeared. "But yeah, I'm hungry. Shall I sneak contraband in here for us? There's this great pizza joint that'll deliver. A pizza for each of us sound good? Or should I get you and Bruce multiple?" He frowned in thought.

Unsure if he could keep down food, Steve shook his head. "How about some water instead?" Now that he said it, Steve realized how dry his throat was. He brought his hand up to his neck and gingerly felt the skin, half expecting the manacle to be there.

"That isn't food," Tony said flatly, but he reached for a pitcher Steve hadn't noticed before and poured water into a styrofoam cup. 

"I don't think you should get pizza delivered here," Steve said as he took the offered cup, taking a small sip.

"I did not miss your boy scout ways these past three months," Tony muttered, once more tapping something onto his phone.

For a moment, Steve didn't think he heard correctly. "Three months?" he echoed, staring blankly at the foot of his bed.

"Well, more like _close to_ three," Tony muttered absently, but then he froze and looked at Steve, eyes widening minutely. "Jesus, what did they even tell you?"

"You're the first person I've seen," Steve said quietly, still processing everything. Maybe this was a dream...

"Ah," Tony said lamely, teeth clicking when he closed his mouth. His eyes searched Steve's, expression unreadable, before his usual smarmy half grin graced his lips. "Well, you're welcome for spicing things up."

His body language was relaxed, but Steve could see the nuances that gave away his tension. Or, at least, Steve _thought_ he saw them.

"Stark," Fury said from the doorway, startling both men, "how did you get in here?" He merely blinked at them, face impassive.

Tony coughed. "Hey, buddy, pal, do you want your own pizza?" He smiled brightly, waving his phone.

"Do not deliver food here," Fury said, stepping into the room. "Also, leave."

Folding his arms in front of his chest, Tony stood his ground. "Why?"

"Because this debriefing doesn't require your presence," Fury answered. "I can get the nurse to threaten you with a shot of something."

Steve flinched, a small movement, but he knew it'd been spotted by the other two men. He tried to relax his grip on his cup of water; he'd been close to breaking it.

"Fine, whatever, no pizza for you," Tony said with a roll of his eye. "I'll go check on everyone's favorite fluffy ball of rage." With a quick glance at Steve, Tony left the room.

With Tony gone, the silence grew uncomfortable, numbing, made worse by the damn beeping; it began to quicken. "So," Steve said, clearing his throat when he found it too dry, "where are we?"

"Malibu," Fury answered easily, regarding Steve with a cool curiosity.

Not liking the man's gaze, Steve took another sip of water, staring into the liquid when he finished. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

Fury sighed, walking over to the window and drawing the blinds, letting in the sunlight. He then moved to the chair next to the bed, sitting down heavily. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, Fury regarded Steve with a weary eye. "We didn't know you were taken until it was too late. They'd not only stripped you of anything traceable, they pitched it in the sewers for a goose chase. We'd started opening black market channels, pulling from our long list of contacts to see if any mention involving the supersoldier serum made the rounds. It took longer than we expected to get any leads." Fury sighed, obviously taking it as a personal failing.

"Things were way too quiet, which led me to believe that perhaps your abduction only occurred for personal gain," he said, eying Steve in a way that had Steve wondering if the man could read his mind.

Steve cleared his throat. "Which meant you had to search harder?" he guessed, uneasy under his gaze.

Nodding, Fury sat back, running a hand over his scalp. "We opened all the national channels we had, but without knowing where to look, we were searching blind."

Brow creasing, Steve asked, "Then... how did you find me?"

"Stark," Fury replied then huffed, "or rather, Ms. Potts. He had to come out this way for a business meeting. He would have skipped it, but Ms. Potts strong armed him into it. Fortunately, it was after the meeting where he heard some dumbass talk openly about the serum testing, about how a big development occurred and how the Fredellas were making a big push.

"After interrogating the guy, Stark actually contacted us, waiting until we arrived in Malibu before investigating. And what we found..." Fury shook his head, eye downcast. "Deconstructing the serum, blood transfusions, animal testing, insemination," — Fury glanced at him when he flinched — "the works. Stark said they were bleeding you dry when he located your cell."

Steve looked down at his hands, at the tube in his arm. That explained his disorientation and cloudy memory. They would've killed him. And to think, blind luck saved his life.

"I had Stark bring you here while I dealt with the Hulk's rampage. As I understand it, you went under the knife," Fury said as he nodded to Steve's bandages. "Nothing serious, mostly minor repair work to some internal structures, as well as removing those two bullets. Your body healed very well, considering what you've been through." He regarded Steve with that curious look again.

"I'm resilient, sir," Steve stated, mostly because it was true. Even before the serum, he survived whatever illness came for him, despite his chances.

Snorting, Fury leaned forward, leveling Steve a _look_. "We'll see about that when you ID the Fredellas."

Blinking, Steve asked, "Who?"

"Jerry and Sally Fredella," Fury stated flatly, "along with a Mr. Christopher Rigley. We have all three in custody, and we need you to give a positive ID." He stared at Steve, considering, before letting out a long, deep breath. "Or would you rather not? Considering the abuse you suffered at their hands, no one would hold it against you. And it's your choice as a survivor on whether or not you want to press charges against your rapists."

Steve stared at Fury, dumbstruck and numb. The beeping quickened. "Sir, I—"

Fury held up his hand. "Cap, you are not the first person I've seen in the aftermath of such abuse, and you're not going to be the last." He stood up with a sigh. "I'm not making you say anything you aren't ready to, but I am letting you know that there are people who are willing to listen, should you want to talk."

The beeping gradually slowed, and it took Steve an absurdly long time to realize that the ever present noise was his own heart beat. Breathing in deeply, holding it, then finally letting it out, Steve grew calmer. Fury's gaze held no judgment, no pressure, and for that, Steve was grateful. 

"Thank you." He didn't know if he'd ever wanted to talk about it, but the knowledge that someone would listen was nice to know.

Nodding, Fury walked toward the door. "Besides, we now have enough on them to see to it they stay behind bars. It's recommended that you stay here for two nights, and I'm recommending that recommendation. Stark lives nearby, so he'll be your ride after your stay."

He waited for a response, but Steve couldn't really find the effort to protest the arrangements. He was tired and figured he could use a little stress free rest.

"Oh, one more thing," Fury said before he left, hand on the doorknob, turning to face Steve with something akin to sympathy in his eyes. "You should know… Mrs. Fredella is not pregnant." With that, he disappeared behind the door, leaving Steve alone, the beeping abnormally steady despite how cold he felt. 

———

The house was more sleek than the Tower, which shouldn't have surprised Steve as much as it did. Maybe the ocean view threw off his perception; lodgings by the sea usually brought to his mind a small cabin of some sort, but then again, he should have known that Tony Stark wouldn't do anything in a small manner.

"I thought Ms. Potts lived with you?" he asked, shuffling his feet in the living room. He was glad to be out of the hospital, but he still felt awkward being in Tony's house.

Unlike the hospital suite, which he discovered Tony had paid for, this place was mostly open and light, airy almost, but lacking in that personal touch, which only served to remind Steve of the place he'd just left. The dichotomy in the house both comforted Steve and put him slightly on edge.

"Nope, not for a while now," Tony said, one hand scratching the back of his head as he looked at a tablet. Clearing his throat, he tapped something on the screen, glancing up. "So, you're added to the security now. JARVIS is here, so ask him about whatever and he'll try to be useful. Oh, and pick whichever room you want. Jarv can help you out with that if for some reason you can't decide."

"Why aren't you in New York?" Steve asked, wondering if Tony still had business to see to. It would explain why they weren't en route for Manhattan.

Huffing, Tony frowned. "Bruce wanted space, can you believe that crap? But it isn't like I haven't got space to go around, so I'll forgive him maybe."

That didn't really answer his question, but Steve decided to let it go, choosing instead to venture to the enormous windows. It held a great view of the ocean, the calm waters inviting.

"Are you thinking about a swim?" Tony asked, bringing Steve back to the here and now.

Steve shrugged. "Maybe." He actually hadn't been swimming just for swimming in a long, long time.

"Should I send lifeguards to accompany you?" he asked as he joined Steve, looking out into the waters.

Face scrunching up in confusion, Steve faced him. "What, why?" If Tony's insinuating that he couldn't be trusted on his own, Steve had some choice words for the man. He'd had enough of biting his tongue at how the medical personnel treated him.

(He knew they were just doing their job, but Steve hated people handling him like he was a delicate little thing.)

Tony shrugged, tapping something out before tossing the tablet onto the couch. "Eh, the last time you were in water, it didn't really work out well."

"That," Steve began but stopped, blinking; that wasn't what he expected Tony to say. "It wasn't water, it was ice, and the only reason it didn't work out well was because I intentionally crashed the plane."

"Potato, potato," Tony said before a yawn escaped him, waving his hand dismissively as he walked away from the window screens.

"You're supposed to pronounce them differently," Steve pointed out, turning slightly to watch Tony travel down the spiral staircase.

"Why? I only say potato," he called, disappearing into what Steve thought was a workshop.

Snorting, Steve turned back to the window, staring out into the ocean. The sunlight glittered on the water's surface, almost hypnotizing, and it calmed him.

Maybe spending a day or two here wouldn't be that bad.

With a little sigh, Steve turned, surveying the house, and then glanced up at the ceiling. "Um, JARVIS?"

"How may I be of service, Captain Rogers?"

"Mind telling me where Tony's room is so I don't accidentally enter it?"

"Would you prefer if I led you to an available room instead?"

"Whatever works for you," Steve said, smiling slightly.

He followed JARVIS' instructions, entering a room that almost felt too spacious, and collapsed on the bed. Closing his eyes, he figured it wouldn't hurt to take a nap while here.

———

The clock on the screen blinked four a.m., and Steve sighed, turning over for the umpteenth time. He'd only managed to sleep for two hours before a nightmare took him, and he'd been tossing and turning ever since.

He debated leaving the room. While Tony had said to make himself comfortable, walking around someone else's house in the early hours of the morning usually spoke of rudeness. Or creepiness.

Then again, he recalled Bruce saying Tony rarely kept normal hours, rarely even slept at all nowadays, so maybe Tony wouldn't mind Steve's wanderings. Maybe Tony would like some company. Sitting up, he idly wondered if Tony would even let him in the workshop; he hadn't been allowed in the one at the Tower, after all.

In the end, Steve's curiosity got the better of him, and he ended up venturing down to Tony's workshop. Once he got there, though, he didn't know how to proceed next. The glass looked thick, and he definitely didn't know the passcode to get in. With a sigh, Steve merely leaned forward, searching the 'shop for Tony.

He wasn't there, which the lack of obscenely loud music should have told him.

"Would you like to enter, Captain Rogers?" JARVIS' voice rang out.

"I can?" Steve asked, blinking in surprise.

"Of course, sir." A click sounded, and the key grid lit green.

Taking it as a sign to open, Steve did just that, pushing the door and walking into the lab, a shiver quickly running down his spine in the cooler air. "Why am I allowed in?" he found himself asking as he looked around.

It was a lot more cluttered than the one in New York.

"I was given orders that you be allowed in whenever you want," came the reply.

Steve made a face. "Oh really," he said flatly, wondering if the allowance meant Tony was coddling him because of what'd happened.

"Yes, sir. I believe the direct quote was 'get video of him trying to work my tech, Jarv, it'll be hilarious, and I don't want to miss it.' Of course, I am also instructed to call 9-11 should you cause too much destruction."

For several moments, Steve remained silent, words failing him. Then, he laughed, brief and incredulous. "What if I just wreck stuff while giving mean looks to the camera?"

"In this case, I'd say Mr. Stark would deserve a clip or two of that. However, I strongly discourage wrecking the workshop."

"I wouldn't do that, JARVIS, no worries," Steve assured, a little smile on his face as he walked around, trailing his fingers over smooth surfaces.

It always amazed him, what one man could do with a bunch of metal and circuitry.

Something hooted, and Steve's focus followed the noise, taking in the sight of a robotic arm, a soft whir sounding as the arm moved. He moved closer to it, and it moved again, its claw like hand turning this way and that, almost as if it were studying Steve.

"And what are you," he murmured, leaning down a bit to get a closer look.

The arm hooted, the claws opening and closing with the noise.

"That would be DUM-E, sir, Mr. Stark's extra arm and favorite target for his insults."

"Dummy? That's an awful name. Do you like it?" Steve asked the robot, wondering if it could understand him like JARVIS could.

The robot whirred lowly, its arm moving slightly to the side.

Steve had no idea what that meant, so he just patted the little guy.

Another hoot sounded, and Steve turned to find a second robotic arm making its way toward them.

"And that would be U, the second extra arm."

"Dummy and You? Tony is terrible at naming things," Steve muttered, but he waved at the other robot, smiling. The bots crowd him a little, and he noticed that they were probably communicating with each other, their hoots and whirs intertwining. You had a rag in its hand, so Steve imagined them arguing over whose turn it was to clean the workshop. It made him chuckle.

The garage door opened, and Tony pulled in, top down and hair all a mess. Dummy and You moved toward him.

"Daddy's home, and he brought snacks," Tony called out, hopping out of his car, wearing sweatpants and a tank top, goggles atop his head. He leaned over the door to pull out a large box, probably full of doughnuts if the one in his mouth was anything to go by.

Dummy and You hooted at him, which earned them each a pat with Tony's free hand. He walked a few more steps, munching his doughnut, before he noticed Steve. He froze.

"Hi," Steve said, giving him a small wave, awkwardness setting in as the two bots turned to look his way, too.

Recovering, Tony offered Steve the box as he walked by. "Didn't think Mr. America would be up at this hour," he said conversationally as he plopped down on a stool, pulling up several screens.

Chuckling, Steve peeked in the box. "I'm usually up around six," he commented, sneaking a chocolate doughnut out the box before he placed it on the least cluttered space next to Tony.

"And so you just decided to get up extra early today," Tony guessed, flipping open the lid and taking another doughnut without missing a beat.

"And you decided that four in the morning would be the perfect time for doughnuts," Steve returned, amused. He bit into the dessert, watching Tony treat the screen as a painter would a canvas. It made him wish he had his sketchbook.

"When one is stuck in a whatever rut, any time is the perfect time for doughnuts," Tony said, chewing as he turned his full attention towards Steve.

It unsettled Steve, having that kind of focus on him; he felt like he was under a microscope. What unsettled him even more, though, was the fact that this was the first time Tony really looked at him, without dividing his attention on his tech, since his rescue.

"What," he asked flatly, holding his doughnut in front of him as if it could shield him from the gaze.

Blinking, Tony shrugged, but he didn't return to his work. "You don't look like you've lost sleep. Kinda envious, not going to lie." 

"Keeping tabs?" Steve asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Tony snorted. "Oh no. JARVIS informed me of your heart rate; when it spikes like that, it's usually something to worry about, but seeing as you weren't dying, well..." He shrugged again.

"What about you?" Steve ventured, figuring if Tony could bring up Steve's lack of sleep, Steve could do the same. 

"What about me?" Tony echoed, curling into himself slightly. 

Shrugging halfheartedly, Steve bit into his doughnut. "Bruce told me once you hardly sleep," he said after he swallowed. 

"Bruce is a shameless gossip," came the reply. Tony busied himself with deciding which doughnut to take. 

Steve didn't say anything, choosing to finish his dessert before continuing. "So he was incorrect?"

Tony's jaw moved side to side, and Steve could tell he was debating with himself. "Okay. I'm a piping hot mess," he said finally, tone brisk as usual, but his eyes grew dark in seriousness. "Been for a while. Since New York, actually. I can't sleep, and when I do, I have nightmares. So, I come down here and do what I know. I tinker." 

Surprised he actually got an answer, Steve nodded in understanding; he'd had plenty of sleepless nights because of memories. "Is... is that why Ms. Potts isn't...?" He didn't want to finish the question; it seemed rude. 

A crooked grin appeared on his face. "Yes and no." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We talked about it, a little bit, but, well, sometimes the nightmares were pretty bad, and things almost got out of hand." He shivered. "I couldn't keep putting her through that, so I let her go. It wasn't fair to her." That crooked grin resurfaced. "Besides, now that she and Happy have been spending time together, she's, well, happier, and her being happy and safe is what matters." 

He knew his face gave away his feelings. He couldn't help it; he knew all too well how vicious nightmares could be. For Tony to admit to having some as bad as to break up with Pepper, well, Steve didn't know what to say. "Why are you telling me this?" Steve asked quietly.

Huffing, Tony glanced up before rolling his shoulder, gesturing halfheartedly at Steve. "I figure you would understand. I mean, you know what PTSD feels like, right? Fighting in that war of yours, you'd have to." 

"Yeah, I know," Steve breathed out, ignoring Tony's airy tone, taking it for the defense it was. "Pepper could have kept you grounded, though," he added hesitantly. He really had no business talking about the subject, seeing as he had no one, but he did know being alone helped little. 

"That's what my suits are for," Tony said, sweeping his arms open, showcasing the suits in their display cases. 

"They can't really offer support or comfort. They're just a distraction," Steve said quietly. He knew from experience that distraction only got you so far; soon, it wouldn't be enough for Tony. 

"What about you," he snapped. "I seem to recall your file mentioning intensive workout sessions." His body language became closed off with only a small shift in the way he sat. 

Idly, Steve wondered where Tony learned to project _fuck off_ so subtly and yet so strongly. "I never said I hadn't tried to distract my mind," he said slowly, calmly, keeping himself in check. The last thing they needed was a shouting match. 

His demeanor only seemed to irritate Tony further. He squirmed in his seat. "Then don't give me shit when you can't even deal with your own crap," Tony bit out. 

Steve took a small breath. "I'm just trying to help," he said quietly, still managing to sound calm even in the face of Tony's hostility. 

"You can't even help yourself!" Tony glared, but almost immediately after he said the words, the color drained from his face, eyes widening minutely. 

Feeling as if slapped, Steve closed his mouth, jaw setting. He took a step back. 

"Shit, Steve," Tony began, tone panicked, one hand in the air in surrender, one raking through his hair, "I didn't mean—" 

"Yes, you did." His voice sounded off, jaded, even to him, and he turned and made for the staircase. No way was he going to stay there and have a possible breakdown in front of Tony, or worse, verbally cut into him; that wouldn't do either of them any good. 

"Steve, wait," he heard Tony call, as well as the sound of something clanging on the floor. 

"No, I'm going for a run, and yes," he said, pausing so he could look at Tony directly, "it's a distraction." He didn't wait to see Tony's reaction or to hear Tony's response. Steve barely had the presence of mind to throw on his tennis shoes before he left the house, breathing in the fresh air. 

False dawn tinting the sky, Steve ran, letting the memories and the insecurities bleed into the background as he focused on breathing. 

———

He didn't return to the house until half past noon, Tony nowhere in sight. That was probably for the better. Even though he calmed down during his run, he still didn't know if he'd snap if he saw Tony. 

So Steve merely went straight to his bathroom, deciding to take a long, hot shower. As lame as some ways to tell someone to shove it went, taking an hour long shower probably topped the cake, but Steve had to admit it felt good, indulging like that. He even took his time drying off, already decided to just lay about for the rest of the day, possibly trying to sleep again. 

"Captain Rogers," JARVIS voice rang out softly, probably trying not to startle him, "might I suggest something to eat now?" 

Letting a half smile cross his lips, Steve walked into the bedroom, avoiding the mirrors. "Do you see to it that everyone in the house eats proper meals?" 

"I try, sir, but, unfortunately, Mr. Stark has a habit of ignoring my suggestions. I am hoping you'll be a bit easier to persuade." 

Chuckling, Steve threw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, only giving the briefest of glances to the faint gunshot wound on his arm. "I'll go get something now." He actually was pretty hungry. 

"Very good, sir." 

Eyebrow raised at the AI's suspiciously smug tone, Steve made his way downstairs. 

"There you are," Tony said in lieu of an actual greeting when Steve came down the staircase. He placed a box on the glass table in the living room, already heavily cluttered. "Ta-da! Happy Thanksgiving."

Steve blinked; the holiday had completely skipped his mind. Then again, ever since his abduction, his sense of time was screwed up, and it didn't help that he didn't take advantage of Tony's tech. He'd been woefully out of the loop with the world. Again. 

It was Thanksgiving already. Steve had to remind himself that nearly three months had passed by. 

Moving closer, he noticed a very large pizza in the center of the table, surrounded by boxes of desserts: brownies, cookies, sweet rolls, and something topped in berries. He blinked again. "Normal people would have turkey, you know." He looked at Tony, wondering if this was his way of apologizing. 

"Pfft, who said we're normal? Besides, pizza is far superior to turkey." Tony glanced at Steve, hands somewhat in his pockets, and Steve decided that, yes, this was an apology. 

"And the cookies?" Steve asked, eyebrow raised, but he gave a tiny smile of amusement, which seemed to make Tony relax. 

"What, you got something against chocolate cookies, too?"

"You're weird," Steve said, shaking his head slightly, but he sat down, relaxing into the couch, amused at the amount of junk food he saw on the table. He didn't know if he'd be able to eat much of it. 

Ignoring him, Tony walked over to the half bar. "What do you want to drink? Beer? Milk? Water? Hard liquor?"

"You keep beer in your house?" Steve asked instead of answering, surprised.

"Pizza is best with beer." Tony nodded as if he'd just spoken some ancient wisdom. "Is that what you want?"

Smiling slightly, Steve shook his head. "Milk, please."

Tony snorted. "Could you be any more wholesome American?"

"Of course, I could be eating turkey," he replied, proud of the fact he kept a straight face. 

"Ha ha, you're so witty," Tony drawled, a beer in one hand and a tall glass of milk in the other. "Here's your milk, smart guy."

"Thank you," he said with a grin, watching as Tony sat, rubbing his hands. "Aren't you going to say grace?" Steve asked before he could dig in.

Tony groaned. "No, no, I am not." He picked up a slice of pizza as if to make a point.

"Do you want me to do it?" Steve offered, already knowing the answer.

"If you want to, I'm not going to stop you. I'm also not going to wait." He took a bite to demonstrate.

Quietly amused, Steve closed his eyes and offered up a small prayer for the both of them. They've both had pretty bad misfortunes, even more than one close encounter with death, so Steve figured he'd thank whoever their guardian angels were.

"Does praying actually work?" Tony asked after Steve finished, studying him as if he were one of his projects in the workshop.

"It isn't instant gratification wishing," he answered, amused at the thought as he picked up a slice of pizza. Classic pepperoni. 

"So, what? Pray for something long enough and you'll eventually get it?" He scoffed, taking a bite of his pizza in an unnecessarily rough way.

"I didn't say that either."

"Well, then what does it do?"

"It gives you strength, comfort. Maybe even peace of mind." Glancing at Tony, Steve smiled, faintly amused at his petulant expression. "Prayer isn't about receiving something. It's communication."

"One sided," Tony pointed out.

Steve's smile softened. "Sometimes, all you need is for someone to listen. Someone to share your secrets, your troubles, your happiness, your trust."

Tony huffed, taking another bite. "Isn't that what other people are for?" He asked with his mouth full.

"People leave," Steve said quietly, staring into his milk, trying not to think negative thoughts, trying not to relive them. It's Thanksgiving, after all.

"Did you know my old man?"

Tony's question brought Steve out of his mulling, and he regarded Tony curiously. "Not very well," he answered slowly, unsure about the change in topic.

Nodding, Tony munched on his cookies in silence for a few moments. After he swallowed, he glanced at Steve. "Got any juicy details?"

Steve thought about it, wondering why Tony wanted to know about his father all of a sudden. From what he'd heard, they'd had issues. "Well, he almost blew himself up inspecting advanced HYDRA weaponry."

Tony cracked a grin. "Heh. Bet that was fun to see." He took a swig from his bottle. "Anything else?"

"Uh, he asked Peggy out but got shot down?" Steve tried, uncertain of what Tony wanted to hear; he didn't have a lot of embarrassing stories with Howard in them.

This time, a full blown laugh escaped Tony. "That's nice to hear. Who'd she go for instead?"

"Well, uh, we sorta made plans, to meet after the war," he mumbled, feeling his cheeks warm.

"Bet Dad loved that, getting passed up for a rookie." Tony snickered. "Then again, he must've never took it that hard, seeing as he kept that comic book of yours," he said, plucking another cookie from the box and eating it one bite.

"Oh, jeez," Steve mumbled, running a hand over his face, blush brightening. "The fellas never let that rest." He finished his slice.

Chuckling, Tony took a sip of his beer. "How was that, by the way?" At Steve's look, he clarified. "The Howling Commandos. There're lots of theories that the group took part in homosexual indecencies."

Steve snorted. "And how did that come about?" He took another slice, but he eyed the cookies.

"Probably because Captain America used to wear tights," Tony teased.

Rolling his eyes, Steve sat back and took a sip of his milk. "There weren't any orgies, if that's what you're asking."

"So boring," Tony drawled, taking another swig. He reached for a sweet roll. 

"But the guys got handsy when they were drunk." Grinning at the memories, Steve bit into his pizza slice.

"Groping is fun," Tony said with a mouthful, nodding.

"Nah, it was more like cuddling." He chuckled as he finished his pizza slice. "Bucky stayed clear whenever they got like that."

"Why? Had a problem with it?" Eyebrow raised, Tony regarded him, disbelieving.

Shaking his head, Steve smiled. "No, he actually liked cuddling, but when the guys fight over who gets to cuddle you, well, that's when it gets to be annoying."

Tony laughed. "His milkshake brought all the boys to the yard?"

"I don't know what that means, but everyone said he gave the best cuddles."

"What about you?" Tony asked, peering over his beer bottle. "You couldn't get wasted. How did you engage in the art of cuddling?"

"I asked," Steve said simply, taking a cookie and suppressing a laugh when Tony called bullshit.

It felt nice, sitting there and talking, eating junk food. It felt easy, and it made Steve forget about the bad for a while. Tony teased him, stuffed his face, and became offended when Steve teased him back. They laughed with each other instead of at each other, and not once did they get in a heated argument (but they did bicker over which New York borough was the best). It'd been a good afternoon.

Stomachs full, even Steve's, they fell asleep on the couch, slumped against each other, at ease and clueless to the rest of the world. 

An hour or two later, Steve startled awake, unaware of where he was for a moment, but relaxed as he took in the sight of Tony's home. He tensed, though, when he realized that his movement caused Tony's head to fall into his lap. 

And just like that, he suddenly found himself back on that cold floor, that woman's face sweetly looking up at him as she coaxed him to hardness, that sadistic smirk as that man bit the inside of Steve's thigh. Steve's heart rate sped up in panic, and for a second, he couldn't breathe.

Groaning, Tony turned his head, blinking awake. "What happened?" he slurred, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. He didn't move from Steve's lap.

Snapping back into the present at Tony's voice, Steve tried to take a breath. "Nothing," he said evenly, doing his best to not focus on Tony, "I forgot where I was, is all." He tried to relax, tried to ease the tension in his whole body. 

Tony made some kind of grunt of acknowledgment as he slowly sat up, stretching. "Oh man, remind me not to go head to head with you at the buffet."

"I didn't even eat that much," Steve replied automatically, still trying to get his heart beat steady.

Tony groaned again. "Don't remind me." He stretched again, snapping his fingers absently, which caused JARVIS to bring up a clock on one of the nearby screens. Tony blinked at it. "It's eight p.m. already? Damn, I wanted to tinker." He pushed himself off the couch, blindly grabbing one of the boxes of cookies.

Breathing in deeply, Steve finally glanced at Tony. "Don't you always tinker?"

"I meant for myself, smartass," Tony replied, sticking out his tongue. "I have actual work to do, though. I'll probably get an earful from Pepper and Rhodey if I put it off any longer." He was already at the staircase. "Try not to eat all of that in one sitting, spangles," he called, disappearing into the workshop.

The screen still displayed the time, and Steve sat there, watching the minutes tick away, a sour taste in his mouth. Despite their confrontation earlier in the morning, today had been a good day, yet he had to ruin it by panicking over a silly little thing.

Fury had said there'd be someone willing to listen, but Steve had declined the offer; he'd already been wary of speaking about it to begin with, but the _look_ in everyone's eyes turned him completely away from the idea. But after what just happened? Maybe he should talk to someone.

Sighing, Steve stood, looking at the boxes of desserts still littering the table, and turned to leave, unable to even think of eating another bite. He headed to his room. Maybe he'd get in bed and try to go back to sleep. 

———

"Shouldn't we be heading back to New York?" Steve asked from his spot on the lowest stool Tony had, using one of Tony's tablets to draw a portrait for Dummy. 

"It's been a week," Tony said around the wrench in his mouth, not looking away from his suit. 

"So?" Admittedly, it'd been a pleasant week, even if they tiptoed around each other in the early hours of the day. Neither wanted to have another round like that first morning. 

"Pretty sure the others can handle whatever comes their way," he said, glancing at Steve with a raised eyebrow. 

"I can just leave, you know," Steve said as he held the tablet up so Dummy could get a better view. The bot hooted. 

Snorting, Tony turned back to his work. "I never said you couldn't, freak."

"Tony," Steve said, barely suppressing a sigh, "what am I doing here?" He'd noticed a lack of communication from SHIELD, barely got anything more than an exchange of pleasantries from Bruce or Natasha, and he began to rethink his idea of Tony staying in Malibu due to business when he realized Tony hadn't received any contact from Pepper about the company. 

Tony didn't say anything for a minute or two, focusing on his suit. Then he sighed. "We've been put in a time out together." He glanced at Steve. "Out of commission."

The answer confirmed his suspicions, but it still annoyed him. "They don't think I can do my job?" he asked as he added the finishing touches to Dummy's drawing. 

"More like they don't want us using our job as an escape," Tony muttered, frowning as he tapped out a rhythm on his stool. 

"They being SHIELD," Steve guessed. 

"They being mostly Banner, who I've chewed out for being such a hypocrite, by the way." He huffed, tossing the wrench aside and pulling up a screen. "The man's always escaping something or other," he mumbled, typing in modifications and nodding to himself at the results. 

Amused, Steve shook his head. "I think he escapes to avoid something physical," he said offhandedly, presenting the drawing to Dummy, who hooted and whirred in what Steve gathered to be excitement. Chuckling, Steve saved it and let the bot take the tablet. You hooted on his other side, tablet in its hand, which Steve took and began drawing another piece. 

"Same difference," he said as he glanced at Steve. He did a double take. "What are you doing?" 

"Sketching," Steve replied, smiling when You leaned in closer to watch his fingers move. 

"For my bots," Tony clarified, as if he thought Steve didn't know. 

Steve nodded. "Yep." He'd noticed the other day that they liked watching him draw, so he had made it a point to do his sketches where they could easily see. That apparently invited them over to watch the actual process. Not that Steve minded. 

Realizing that the workshop had become unusually quiet, Steve looked up to find Tony staring at him, eyes gleaming, searching, as if Steve were some great mystery. 

Something fluttered in Steve's stomach at that gaze, and Steve had no honest idea if that were a good thing or not. 

"Tony?" Steve asked, quiet and hesitant. 

Tony blinked, a minute shake of his head, and cleared his throat. "What movie are we watching tonight?" he asked as he turned back to his screen. 

Steve stared at Tony's back, brow creased in confusion, and it took a hoot from You to bring him out of his little trance. "Um," he said intelligently, belatedly realizing he'd been asked a question. "Didn't I pick last time?" 

"Did you?" Tony didn't look away from his designs. "I don't remember. JARVIS?" 

"Are you asking me to pick a movie or to remind you what you watched last night?" 

Steve smiled, returning to his sketch. 

"What we watched last night, smartass." Even though Steve couldn't see his face, he could tell Tony was grinning. 

" _Jurassic Park_ ," came the reply. 

"Oh, yeah, that was totally my pick," he said triumphantly, glancing over his shoulder at Steve. "Your turn." 

" _Beauty and the Beast_ ," Steve said without a beat. 

"You want me to watch Disney?" Tony asked, once again facing Steve, amusement on his face. 

Shrugging, Steve focused on finishing You's drawing. "I saw _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_ when it first came out, and the animation really impressed me, so I figured why not watch something from their Renaissance." 

"You already talked to JARVIS about this, haven't you?" Tony's eyes narrowed, but he barely concealed his smile. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Steve replied with a grin. He added some final touches before saving the piece, presenting it to You. The bot chirped — and Steve would definitely say that was excitement — and took the tablet, turning to show Dummy. The two hooted at each other, displaying their tablets with what could be guessed as pride as Steve laughed. 

Blinking at the quietness that once again settled over the workshop, Steve turned and caught Tony's gaze. Swallowing against the flutter in his stomach, Steve watched as Tony's eyes traveled to the bots whirring happily with their tablets then back to Steve. 

Those brown eyes gleamed with something Steve couldn't place, but Tony was no longer looking at Steve as if he were a mystery. In fact, in the way his features softened, the way his eyes widened ever so slightly, it seemed like Tony solved whatever he saw there. 

He had no idea why, but Steve felt his cheek grow warm. 

"Shall I order out for dinner, or will you stun all present and cook yourself?" JARVIS' crisp drawl inquired, startling both men. 

"Ha ha, Jarv," Tony said after he recovered, and unless Steve missed his guess, he'd say Tony was blushing, "but I think ordering out will do just fine. I'm feeling Mexican." 

"We could try French, in keeping with the theme of _Beauty and the Beast_ ," Steve suggested, clearing his throat some as he got off his stool. He felt restless with nervous energy, so he occupied himself with walking around the bots. 

"Nope, Mexican is better," Tony said, dismissing the subject as closed as he saved his work. He stood up and stretched, still not quite looking at Steve's face. "You know where to order from, Jarv," he said as he made his way out the workshop, patting Dummy and You on his way. 

Shaking his head to gather himself, Steve gave the bots a pat as well before he followed suit. 

———

Food delivered and movie halfway finished, Steve sat on the couch, fully enthralled in the animation, with Tony by his side, munching away on his hot tamale. 

"Who would you date, Gaston or the Beast?" Tony asked between bites. 

"Is that a trick question?" Steve returned, wondering how Tony's mind worked. 

Tony rolled his eyes. "Don't take into account that you're aware of each of their motives. Pretend like you know nothing about them." 

"Definitely not Gaston," Steve said with a frown. "I lived around too many people like him for that to be attractive." 

"So you'd date the Beast," Tony stated, glancing at Steve like he wanted to make sure Steve knew there was only one option left. 

Shrugging, he sat back, running a hand through his hair. "I guess so, if dating is all we're doing. Then again, it probably wouldn't last long." 

Tony huffed, taking a nice swig of his drink. "Why? A magically altered prince too good for you?" 

Steve snorted. "I haven't been on that many dates, and the ones I've been on haven't been that great." He smiled in self-deprecation, recalling the memories. "More than once, they either left soon after or went home with Bucky if he didn't have a date." He remembered Bucky embarrassed apologies whenever that happened, but Steve usually waved it off; he actually hadn't minded, and he wouldn't deny Bucky a nice night. 

"So you haven't dated recently?" Tony asked, tilting his head as he regarded Steve, a pinch to his eyes. 

"Nope. Still adjusting, the Battle of New York, the aftermath, it's just been a little busy for me to really think about it," he said, fidgeting a little as he shrugged the issue away. "Besides, dating probably means something different nowadays." 

Tony waved his hand dismissively. "Nah. There's usually no sex on first dates." 

"Except for yours?" Steve guessed. It seemed likely, given his playboy status. 

"I didn't date, per se," he drawled, taking another sip. "I was more of a hook up kind of guy. A good tumble in the sheets. Or wherever. It's all about both parties feeling good and having fun." 

"Ah, so you've never been on a date?" He didn't know why, but the thought amused him. 

"Sure I have. I just realized I'd rather do casual sex than the dating thing." 

Intrigued, Steve faced him. "What did you do on the dates you went on?" He wondered if Tony threw his money at dates like he did his friends. 

"Mundane things, I guess. Go out for drinks. Go to a game of some sort. Opera. Dinner and a movie. Anything that'll allow two people to get to know each other a little." Tony shrugged, placing his drink on the table. "Also, can I point out how wrong it is that I'm giving you dating advice? You should probably talk to Bruce; he'd have a better sense of that sort of thing than me." 

Chuckling, Steve turned his attention back to the movie. "Who would you date?" he found himself asking not a minute later. 

A beat passed. "Belle," Tony answered. 

"She wasn't one of the choices," Steve pointed out, smiling. 

"You didn't give me choices," Tony said, matter of fact, which was ruined when he stuck out his tongue. 

Rolling his eyes, Steve shifted in his seat, pulling his leg under him and settling into the cushions. "She does have nice eyes. Kinda reminds me of..." He let himself trail off, a blush tinting his cheeks when he realized he meant to say Tony's eyes. 

He'd been thinking about Tony in several different lights for a few days now, but he hadn't thought he'd actually entertain the idea of being with him. But, now that he thought about it... 

"The Beast doesn't have bad eyes, either," Tony said, breaking the silence. He glanced at Steve. "Good color." 

They held each other's gaze for a long moment before Tony turned away, attention on the movie again. Steve mirrored the movement, blushing anew and trying to ignore how his heart had skipped a beat. 

Maybe...

———

The minutes ticked by, and Steve grew more nervous as each one passed. Tony had yet to come up from the workshop, and the only thing stopping Steve from going down there and confronting him was the fact that Steve wanted to do things properly. 

Somehow, sometime in the night, Steve resolved to have sex with Tony, in Tony's own bed. 

He'd convinced himself that it made sense. After all, Tony was well known for his sexual prowess, for making others feel good, and the man himself stated that he had no issue with casual sex. In fact, Steve had seen Tony flirt shamelessly with each member of the team, often bemoaning the fact that Bruce didn't "swing that way" or the fact Pepper hadn't wanted to "add more persons" to their bed, so Steve figured Tony wouldn't mind helping him out. 

He'd convinced himself that Tony wouldn't be selfish, wouldn't be hurtful, in bed; it'd be slow, exploring, a mutual give and take, no malicious intent, everything that sex should be. And Steve knew that was all he needed: just a romp in the sheets with someone he trusted to erase the phantom touch of those who abused him.

But now that he was here, waiting for Tony to finish up his project and join him for another movie, second thoughts began to cloud Steve's mind. This might blow up in his face. It might make things worse. 

A loud yawn broke his thoughts, and Steve turned to see Tony ascending the stairs, running a hand through his messy hair as he stretched, grinning wide when he noticed Steve. The sight calmed Steve, and he found his resolve again. Tony wasn't like them. 

"Okay, boy scout, I hope you're ready to have your mind blown because tonight we're watchin—!"

Steve cut him off with a kiss, just a press of lips to his, lingering just slightly before pulling away, nervousness churning his stomach as he searched Tony's face for a reaction. He felt embarrassed, springing that on Tony, but if Steve hadn't just taken the plunge, he knew he'd never had gathered the nerve to ask outright. 

Eyes almost comically wide, Tony blinked at him, mouth slightly agape, before shaking himself out of his little daze. "What was that?" he asked quietly, eyes still wide. 

"I'd hope you knew what a kiss was," Steve said, trying for a light tone. His palms tingled, and he refrained from fidgeting. 

"I definitely know what kisses are," Tony responded, nodding his head almost as if on autopilot. "That was more me asking... why?" His brow creased in uncertainty, eyes searching Steve's face. 

"It's generally something you do with a person you like," he said, smiling slightly. And then, while he still possessed the courage to do so, Steve took a deep breath and spoke again. "Tony, take me to bed?" 

Tony didn't move. He barely breathed or blinked as he stared at Steve, disbelief written all over his face.

"Don't, don't you want to?" Biting the inside of his lip in nervousness, Steve wondered if he misjudged... everything. Maybe Tony wasn't the type to casually sleep with a friend, especially a male friend, after all. Maybe Tony wouldn't want to because _he's_ the one asking. Maybe Tony found out what had happened to him and didn't want to get involved. 

Blinking rapidly, Tony shook his head. "Oh, I do. I really do. In fact, I'm going to refrain from saying exactly how much I want to just in case this turns out to be real and not another dream." 

"I could pinch you," Steve offered after he regained his composure, taking Tony's hand in his, mind a little hazy with the knowledge that Tony had dreams about him. 

Eyes tracking the movement, Tony smiled. "How about on my ass?" 

Steve gave Tony a flat look. 

"Oh, okay, so this isn't a dream," Tony commented, nodding to himself. 

Steve managed to snort, but then his confidence retreated again, leaving him fiddling with Tony's hand as he waited for Tony's answer. He liked Tony's hands, liked their rough nature, liked how they could handle things with care and respect. 

"Are you sure?" Tony asked, his thumb smoothing the skin on the back of Steve's hand. 

"Why wouldn't I be?" Steve breathed out, tearing his gaze away from the action to look Tony in the eye. 

"You know why," Tony said quietly, features crumbling slightly. "Cutting you up wasn't the only form of torture they put you through..." He worried his bottom lip, concern in his eyes. 

Despite his efforts, Steve froze. "How did...?" Heart rate spiking, his mind raced, trying to piece together how Tony could have found out. The hospital? Fury? Had he— 

"I saw him," Tony blurted, eyes wide, placing his other hand over Steve's; belatedly, Steve realized he'd tightened his grip on Tony's hand. "When we stormed the place, he was in the middle of — I saw him, I blasted him, I got you to medical." He lightly massaged the tension out of Steve's hand, his eyes not leaving Steve's face.

"You haven't said anything," Steve whispered, not trusting his voice any louder, as he tried to relax. The statement was more for his own ears than for Tony's. 

"I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you would," Tony said, equally as quiet. "I didn't think you'd kiss me..." His tone still held that note of disbelief. 

A small smile formed on his lips. Tony had known about what had happened to him, yet he didn't look at Steve differently; he still saw Steve as someone he'd be willing to be with. "You don't want me to kiss you?" 

"Of course I want you to kiss me," Tony said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I just didn't think you'd want to." 

"I'm pretty sure I've always wanted to kiss you. I just didn't think I could," Steve confessed, eyes downcast, studying their clasped hands. So many things had been at play that made Steve step away from his feelings, and even after everything that had happened recently, he'd been determined to keep ignoring them. The fact that Tony didn't mind them, that he openly welcomed them, well, it both calmed him and caused his nerves to flutter. 

"I'm glad you did, even if I'm wondering why," he said as he brought their hands to his mouth, kissing Steve's knuckles. "But are you sure?" he asked again, catching Steve's eye. 

"Tony, yes." Steve did his best to convey how much he wanted to do this, pushing any and all doubt to the back of his mind. "We've even been on several dates," he added, mainly to distract his own nerves. 

Tony's face scrunched up in confusion. "What, when?" 

"You said it yourself, dinner and a movie," Steve said helpfully. "Isn't that what we've been doing this past week?" It certainly made them more comfortable around each other. Once or twice, they'd even managed to fall asleep against each other without any nightmares. 

"That was... different," Tony said lamely, but the light in his eyes told Steve he was thinking the same thing. 

"Not really," he said, smiling slightly. He sobered a little, though, looking down again. "Will you take me to bed?" Steve glanced up, silently pleading. 

"If that's what you want," Tony said slowly, searching his eyes. 

Nodding, Steve breathed out, "Please, Tony." He needed this, he just knew it. 

Tony nodded and squeezed Steve's hand, giving comfort and reassurance, as he led the way to his bedroom, pulling Steve's hand to his lips for featherlight kisses every now and then. He kept glancing back, features open and soft, attentive and willing to stop everything if given the word. 

Steve followed Tony easily enough, even though doubt started to trickle into his mind again, making him wonder if he had made the right decision. Tony turned to look at him when they entered his room, pausing in his movements to study Steve, to search for a sign if they should continue or not. Taking what he hoped was a subtle breath, Steve removed his shirt, trying not to be too slow or too hasty in the action. 

Tony's breath caught, his eyes widening as his hand came up to Steve's shoulder, hesitant to touch the most prominent scar on his body. He looked into Steve's eyes, silently asking for permission, and Steve had to make himself nod, words failing him for a moment. 

Steve'd had scars before, but the way they healed left them so faint, one would have to really look to see them. The scars from that place? Some were darker, much more noticeable to the untrained eye, and the relative worst was the shoulder. Some of the doctors who didn't know his real identity had said he was lucky to get such little scarring, given the amount of trauma he had suffered, but to those who knew Steve, like Tony and Bruce, even Fury, those scars stood out as if painted neon. 

And now Tony was touching it, fingers light and gentle, and Steve couldn't stop the shiver that ran through him. Tony paused, looked him in the eye again, but Steve simply leaned in for a kiss, walking backwards to the bed, bringing Tony with him without breaking their kiss. It was only when the back of Steve's knees hit the edge of the bed that he pulled away, panting slightly as he looked at Tony, growing nervous. 

"You can lie down," Tony suggested, quiet, a little breathless, as he reached into his night drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom.

Trying not to look at the items directly, Steve lay down on the bed, heart pounding in his chest as he watched Tony follow him, crawling on the bed as he removed his shirt. He distracted himself by focusing on Tony's chest, on the ARC reactor, the glow of it, the scarring around it, but then Tony was kissing him. 

_Everything's fine_ , he reminded himself, swallowing as Tony straddled his hips, his hands nervously settling on Tony's waist, mostly just to prove to himself that he _could_ move them. _This is what you need. You need to feel someone else on your skin_.

Slowly, Tony pulled away from his lips, panting, but Steve only followed him, reclaiming the contact, trying to escape his nerves in the feel of Tony's lips against his own, in the slight scratch of Tony's beard. In how different it was from _them_.

He felt Tony's hands travel down his chest, down his sides, while Tony gave a small roll of his hips, all the while kissing Steve. Despite his thundering heart, Steve felt sure he could continue; after all, so far, nothing bad happened.

Tony's hands reached the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging slightly, his fingers ghosting over Steve's skin, so close to dipping in and reaching for his cock. 

Flashes of hands, rough and chubby, smooth and dainty, raced through his mind; glimpses of smiles, cruel in their sweetness and in their sadism, sped across the black of his eyelids. 

Steve's eyes snapped open. "Wait," he gasped, pulling back, moving his hands away from Tony's hips and trying his hardest not to _push_ Tony. His whole body shook. "I'm sorry, I don't think—"

"It's cool, you're okay," Tony assured, immediately getting off of Steve and moving to opposite side of the bed. "Whatever you want, it's fine." He panted, more from his scurry than arousal. 

Steve stayed still, trying to rein in his breathing and calm his nerves. The light in the room grew brighter, though still soft, and Steve wondered who was responsible for it, Tony or JARVIS. 

When it felt like his heart would no longer explode in his chest, when he no longer felt cold, Steve quietly said, "I'm sorry." He didn't even want to look at Tony, he felt so ashamed. He thought he could do it, get through it without any hiccups, but, against his will, his mind placed Tony on the same level as them. 

"Hey, hey, no, you've got nothing to be sorry for, okay?" Tony said gently. "I'd never want to do something you weren't a hundred percent on board with, got it?" The bed never moved; Tony sat perfectly still, giving Steve all the space he needed. 

Grateful, Steve relaxed some more. 

"Besides," Tony continued after a long beat, tone conversational, "it's kinda good that you called it quits because I am a Chatty Cathy in bed." 

That wasn't something he expected Tony to say right now. "A... what?" Blinking in confusion, Steve chanced a glance at Tony. The other man merely sat on the edge of the bed, balancing so he didn't fall off, legs crossed and hands on his ankles. 

"I'm a talker," he explained. "It's kinda like a disease where I have no control over what comes out of my mouth. My past partners either tolerated it for the awesome sex or found ways to shut me up." He smiled, a somewhat dreamy expression crossing over his face before he focused on Steve again, almost sheepish. 

"Ah... So it's a big problem then?" Steve felt the corner of his lips twitch upward, almost incredulous at the non sequitur. He sat up a little, scooting back so he could lean against the headboard. His breathing and heart beat evened out. "Don't you talk enough outside of bed?" 

"That's what some of them said!" Tony exclaimed, gesturing one arm wildly, which only made his position more precarious. "And the answer is apparently not," he said after regaining his balance. "It's the reason I was involved in a lot of threesomes. Or moresomes." He made a face. "Not that you wanted to hear that, sorry."

"I see what you mean. You're just sitting in bed, and already you can't shut up." A small smile appeared on his lips, and Steve didn't even have to force it. He gave a quiet chuckle, relieved that he no longer felt suffocated. 

"Oh, we have a smartass here," Tony said as he narrowed his eyes, hiding a smile of his own. His body began to loosen, and Steve realized Tony had been tense over the situation as well. "This bed isn't big enough for two."

Raising an eyebrow, Steve surveyed the empty space. "I'd say it's big enough for at least four." 

"Mmmmm, now there's a thought," Tony said with a wistful sigh. 

"Who are you picturing?" Steve found himself asking, genuinely curious. "Or remembering?"

"Nothing that happened in this bed," Tony assured, "but there were these Swedish triplets..."

"Sounds like a handful," Steve said honestly, refraining from wondering how the logistics would work. 

"In more ways than one," Tony agreed. "Also, I should stop thinking about all that or I'm going to excuse myself to the bathroom, and that would be rude."

"Yeah, you can't do that. You'll rob me of your amusingly specific bed side effect," he said, shimmying down the bed slightly when he realized how easy it was talking to Tony, even after his panic attack. Something in his stomach fluttered.

Tony snorted. "Bed side effect. That's actually not a bad thing to call it." He lay down, stretching out like a cat, but still keeping to the other side of the bed.

"I'm more than just a pretty face," Steve said, deadpan. "Tragic, I know." He turned so his whole body faced Tony, giving the man another small smile. 

Tony chuckled, pillowing his arm under his head. "Maybe _your_ bed side effect is becoming a smartass," he suggested.

"I'm pretty sure I've always been a smartass. I'm just better at hiding it than most people." 

"Well, fine, being in bed brings it out tenfold, then." 

Closing his eyes, Steve only chuckled, letting himself lie there and breathe easily as he listened to the sound of Tony. Opening his eyes, he saw Tony simply watching him, a serene little smile on his face, and that certain something once again fluttered inside of him. 

But his heart didn't race, and his skin didn't turn cold. In the silent dimness of the room, a room he had never been in before, Steve felt at ease, felt content just lying there, across the bed from Tony. Tony, who now had his eyes closed, a peaceful expression on his face even though he'd stated that the idea of sleep scared him. 

No, instead, Steve felt nothing but affection for the man across from him, as well as a longing Steve didn't think he would ever experience again. He didn't want some random romp in the sheets caused by a misguided attempt to overcome his issues. He wanted to be with Tony, wanted to date Tony, wanted his support and his laughter and even his snarkiness. He wanted to hold Tony's hand and not be nervous about where the night would lead. 

Tony blinked open his eyes, smiling dreamily when he noticed Steve watching him. 

Suppressing a shiver, Steve closed his eyes and tried to will his blush away as he listened to the night, wondering if it would be a good idea to date a teammate. As he mused, a faint hum reached his ears, a kind of constant whirring, almost in the rhythm of a heart beat. 

Hesitant to break the peaceful quietude but curiosity piqued, Steve quietly asked, "What's that humming sound?" 

Tony made a small grunt, his eyes widening in surprise. "I'm a little surprised you can hear it," he said bluntly, rolling so that his chest was presented. "It's the reactor." 

Now that he was aware of it, the reactor's glow seemed brighter, bright enough to showcase the scarring around it. Steve swallowed. "Sorry. I didn't know..."

"Don't be. I'm used to the noise now." He waved his hand, shifting to get comfortable, but not hiding the reactor. "I understand," he said quietly after a moment, "what it's like to have someone mess with your body against your will." He closed his eyes, a shaky sigh escaping him. "So... don't think you can't bounce back from it, okay? You have us if you ever need support." 

The air left his lungs, and words failed him as he stared at Tony. Hadn't Steve thought the same thing of Tony – that Tony was capable of letting anyone see how one could rise back up after being pushed down – only a few months ago? "Tony," Steve called quietly when his voice came back, the affection in his heart growing.

"Yeah?" came the reply as Tony's eyes fluttered open.

"Thank you," Steve said, heartfelt, eyes watering in his gratitude and contentment. 

Tony smiled, his own eyes gleaming. "And thank you, for staying here tonight," he said, just as sincere. He stretched his arm towards Steve, hand open, inviting but not demanding. 

Steve took it, entwining his fingers with Tony's, and closed his eyes, smiling as he let sleep take him. 

———

The sunlight warmed his face, waking him, and it took Steve a moment to open his eyes; he felt too at peace. The bed moved, though. Confused, he blearily blinked awake and took in the sight of Tony, sleeping peacefully, a few inches away from him. 

Huh. 

Glancing down, Steve noticed that their arms had found their way around each other, their legs tangled a little together. Tony made a little huffing sound then tried to bury his face in the mattress, a tiny smile on the corner of his mouth as his arms briefly tightened around Steve before they relaxed. Steve smiled. 

He definitely wanted to wake up like this more often. 

Not having the heart to wake him, he let Tony sleep, contenting himself with watching the man, taking in the signs of peace and relaxation on Tony's features. Steve promised himself to draw the sight later. 

Tony's eyes fluttered open, and he stared at Steve, dazed, a dopey smile on his face. After a few moments, though, he blinked, focus coming to his eyes, and stared at Steve in a wonder. 

Steve stared back, positive that his expression mirrored Tony's.

"This is a terrible idea," Tony said after a while. 

Smiling, Steve asked, "Why?" 

"We're going to kill each other." Despite his words, Tony didn't move away from Steve's personal space. 

"You think so?" Steve murmured, amused, as rubbed little circles into Tony's back.

"Yes," Tony said, sighing. "We'll be minding our own business when we say just the wrong thing, which will lead to a hotheaded fight." 

"We didn't kill each other last night," Steve pointed out. 

"That wasn't a fight," Tony said flatly. 

"Exactly," Steve said with a nod. 

"We'll fight, Steve. It's me we're talking about. I'm hardheaded and have unsorted issues all over the place." His tone was airy, but the uncertainty in his eyes was real. 

"Then we're a match made in heaven, seeing as that applies to me as well." He was under no illusion that he was free of issues, especially after last night. 

"We're fighting right now!" Tony exclaimed, exasperated. 

"I'd say this more of a discussion," Steve couldn't help but say, barely containing his grin. 

"We're fighting about fighting," Tony grumbled, petulant. 

"Tony, relax. Everyone fights." He brought Tony's hand to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to the skin. "Besides, didn't you say last night that we'd have each other for support?" 

"I might have," he conceded. "But I will say something that hurts, Steve. It'll be like Thanksgiving morning all over again. It'll be worse."

"I understand that, but we got through it, right?" Steve said, giving Tony's hand a little squeeze. "And when I have a panic attack, like last night, we'll get through that, too," he added, though a little less certain. In all fairness, Steve supposed one's own issues seemed impossible to work out than another's. 

Tony frowned, squeezing Steve's hand back. "I guess we could," he said, tone more confident. 

"Then this could work," Steve said resolutely, gently smoothing his thumb over the back of Tony's hand. "We can make this work." 

Tony took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose. "You're going to want to do walks in the park and stuff, aren't you?" He smiled, though, propping himself on his elbow. 

"It's a high possibility," Steve answered, smiling in turn, tentatively leaning up, a light blush on both their cheeks as they closed the distance. 

"Would either of you care for breakfast in bed?" JARVIS inquired, startling both men, to the point where they accidentally headbutted each other. 

"JARVIS, you definitely did that on purpose," Tony grumbled as he rubbed his forehead, glaring at Steve who couldn't keep his laughter at bay. 

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, sir," came the reply, sounding suspiciously amused. 

"See, this is what you get if you're with me," Tony said as he gestured vaguely toward the ceiling, looking down at Steve with a slight pout. 

Chuckling, Steve leaned up and kissed Tony's cheek. "I can live with that." He lay back down, smile widening when Tony rolled his eyes and joined him. 

They stayed like that, lying together, not quite pressed against each other but close enough to feel the warmth of their skin, and simply enjoyed each other's presence. Tony took hold of Steve's hand, giving no reason other than he wanted to, and Steve smiled. Yes, they still had their own issues to sort out, but at least they didn't have to do it completely alone.


End file.
